Original Poems Promoting Social Justice

Carl Wade Thompson

Let’s talk about legacy,your legacy Mr. President.A Peace Prize to your name,you dealt death in foreign lands.Pakistan has fond memories,they are sure to have.Over 900 innocents killed—accidently.Another 100 civilians in Yemen.400 in Somalia,180 in Afghanistan.Let’s not mention the children,that’s a real bummer.So when your library is built,let their ghosts haunt it.Because the dead will remember,Their memory will judge you.No pomp, no circumstance,their blood is on your hands.Just another killer in the fold,let the dead speak.

55 people shot this weekend,quick start to the New Year.Seems like old news in Chicago land,place where the random get killed.What does this say about us,that it happens on our watch?Not far from home, another world,but right here in our back yard.Why are there no marches,no talks on Capitol Hill?Why does the President not reactwhen blood is spilled in his own burg?Democrats, Republicans,no one takes the mayor to task.Emmanuel instead turns his back,as the suffering reaches a screaming pitch,a banshee’s call for the dead.All I know is no one cares,as long as non-whites are shot.Just let them kill each other,our very own urban onslaught.I don’t know what to do,so tired of the death.Just have to bear it down,until I watch next weekend’s news.